


Pumpkin Flowers

by TheNightling



Category: The Sandman (Comics)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:54:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29254770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNightling/pseuds/TheNightling
Summary: This fic is deliberately bad.  It is a self-insert fan fic... of a sort.  I'm tired.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 1





	Pumpkin Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> The self-insert fic you always secretly wanted but were too ashamed to ask for
> 
> “Do not create this... thing. Just because you fight with someone doesn’t mean you should create a thing which should not exist.”- quote from Jennifer Carroll when I told her what I intended to write. Well, that just makes me want to write it more! 
> 
> Further Disclaimer: This is DELIBERATELY bad. I am sort of poking at insert fan fics as a genre.

Pumpkin Flowers

“You lay there, cool, and naked against the soft, brown, soil of the royal garden. You are waiting there with agonizing hunger and anticipation. You bite down on your own delicate lip with such intensity as to feel the warm trickle of your own blood. There are so many mingling emotions in this moment, Desire, yearning... Hunger. 

As you look up in the dim, rising sun, you see the sensual glint of morning dew as it trickles down the narrow valleys of his great, orange, gourd of a head. In the pre-dawn frost the dew had crystalized into sparkles of soft, soothing, ice droplets.

You stare up in to his triangular eye holes with profound longing. As you stare into the cavernous voids you can see the residual presence of soft pumpkin-innards within him. The lingering seeds that dangle from the fine, web-like, tendrils of pumpkin-flesh within his hollowed out head, almost serve as a metaphor for the sheer virility of this great winter squash in humanoid form. The residual pumpkin flesh inside the shell looks moist and inviting to touch, to taste... 

There is something to be said of the magnificent scent of cinnamon and nutmeg in the air, mixing with natural sugars that can enthrall even the strongest of souls. The hunger increases. The tantalizing fragrances of autumn and Halloween haunt the very air around you.

He removes his green work glove from his leafy hand and you notice that the hand is just a vine with five, velvety pumpkin leaves sprouting as digits, wavering in the morning breeze. The work gloves, themselves, appear to have been made of felt, like the material a muppet might have been constructed from. 

He takes off the other work glove and now he gingerly moves his soft, velvety leaf-fingers along your mid-section. The movements of his leafy fingers sends a tingling sensation up your spine and through your scalp. He leans close to kiss you with his jagged, lip-less mouth. And you realize, that for the hardness of his pumpkin-shell, and sharp words, the breath is warm, pleasant, and is reminiscent of the scent of baking pumpkin pie. Your tongue passes into the shell between his haphazard toothiness. And you can practically taste something not unlike Panara’s Autumn squash soup. Your back arches as you moan softly. You don’t want to hurt him but you do want to take just a nibble in that moment. And then you realize this is a dream. He is a dream. You cannot hurt him. 

His hoe and other gardening equipment lay casually scattered there, disregarded, to his right. The castle looms behind him on a low hill. You both hope that no one is watching but there is the faint dread that the king might see. Well, let him see! Let him be jealous of the passion and the sweet, sweet, flavor of your love.

The early sunlight kisses the damp, orange of his gloriously round head. His smile seems to broaden in the moments just before he bends himself to move his pumpkinhead in order to make its way down to your chest. You feel his hot, pumpkin-spice, breath against your skin, gently, pleasantly. 

You feel something else brushing lightly between your legs, through the fabric of his corduroy overalls. With both leafy hands now de-gloved, he reaches down with his left hand, and unzips the fly of his overalls. What emerges now is something wondrous and impressive to behold! 

There, unfolding in the warm, morning light, is a yellow-orange pumpkin flower. It’s shape is rather star-like and its five petals expand in the light of morning. Pumpkin flowers do not bloom for very long. You had best not waste the moment. Do not let the morning pass you by. The flower, curiously, has a scent not unlike Playdouh and-”

“Lucien,” *the voice was patient, calm, but had the slightest hint of urgency.*

The bespectacled librarian looked up from the book he had been reading from. “Yes, m’lord?”

Morpheus had a chalk-white hand to his temples. His mop of black hair framed his gaunt face. His eyes were shut for the moment but they opened to look gravely at the librarian. Two black pools with stars floating as pupils. “I ask you... Please, never read to me any works from Mervyn Pumpkinhead again.”  
“Of course, my lord...”  
“Now let us never speak of this again.”  
“Of course, my lord.”

The End.


End file.
